


Pulling Headstones

by NeverComingHome



Category: Pushing Daisies
Genre: Death, F/M, Gen, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverComingHome/pseuds/NeverComingHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a gift, it's an inheritance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pulling Headstones

Edward stared at the little girl lying still in the grass, eyes wide as he leaned forward to touch her again-

“Jessica ,sweetie, why are you…?”

He’ll always remember the scream, unnaturally loud in the quiet of a late afternoon spent tossing rocks across the street as his mother leaned against the fence to gossip with their neighbor. He'll always remember how neatly the marble flew over the jacks and nearly past his fingers which snared it in time.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

Their hands had brushed as he gave it back and then she wasn’t moving or smiling or laughing and Edward didn’t know why; he didn’t know why she wasn’t blinking and he was being snatched by the back of his shirt amongst cries and a flurry of motion as Jessica’s father leaped over the fence and picked the frail child into his arms to press his ear to her chest.

~*~  
First touch: death

~*~  
“Why are you constantly in gloves?”

“Skin condition.”

“You’re an odd boy, Erickson.” She tapped her fingers on his desk. “Are you going anywhere tonight?”

She was far too close, this woman with the freckled skin and messy red hair. She was fire and her eyes were honey and he’d never heard words so beautiful as the ones she spoke in class, but she was too close and a button was missing from the arm of the shirt her hand rested on.

“I have a lot of work. Maybe some other time.”

“Tomorrow? That’s another time.” She winked and he chuckled dryly, pushed away from his desk, and reached for his bag.

“Are you asking me to go out?”

“How's that, he's smart too.”

There was a sharp remark waiting to be said, a wag of the eyebrows and a suggestion that would require his voice to lower forcing her to lean in. So, instead, he put a few feet between them and smiled cordially.

“I’ll see you around,Loretta. ”

~*~  
Loretta.

Loretta Loretta Loretta. 

She laughed as he took off his hat to shake the snow off it and onto a passing bike messenger who scowled and pedaled past the two friends, Loretta still giggling. He replaced the hat and fell in step with her

“What did you want to ask me?”

“Dwight Dixon.”

He let out a breath. “Dwight. Dixon. Friend of my ex roommate, they’re enlisting together on the buddy program next year.” She took a step closer and he stiffened out of habit; a high collar, two jackets and gloves he reminded himself.

“So, you know him.”

“I know of him.”

“Word is he’s a real lady killer.”

 _So am I_

“Palling around with Charles can get you any sort of reputation. He’s a great power forward, would’ve won state cup with him last year. It's not my place to say anything more about him to be honest."

She nodded and the subject changed, they stopped in at a bar that was never too full and didn't make a fuss about him taking off his coat and scarf. After a drink Loretta tried to hit the hat from his head with a snowball and called him Houdini when it missed its target, but reappeared from his jacket pocket moments later. 

“Should I?” He cocked his arm playfully.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Ah, of course I wouldn’t, that’s such a brash,” he took a step forward, “inconsiderate,” she watched him warily, “childish way of gaining someone’s full attention.”

“Erickson,” she warned.

He tossed it at a lamp post and she squealed as it fell over and around her in a perfect shower. Her face was red as she struggled not to laugh, summoning all the strength she could into a frown and nearly making him guilty, if not for the briefest quirk of her lips. Nonetheless he stepped forward, apologizing as he swept the already melting snow from her shoulders, pausing at her hair.

“You stopped coloring it.”

"Yeah, should I change it back?”

“No,” his gloves drifted over her hood as he watched the flakes stand out against her mussed locks. “I like it.”

They were in front of her building and he wanted more than anything to kiss her, to give in and stop being the man from the tales they told in his hometown; He wants to take off his gloves and pull her against him without narrating in his own head, 'There once was a man who killed everything he touched and in their place someone would rise from the grave and so he set out to be a doctor and cure all the diseases in the world to make up for the one inside of him and then one fateful night a woman-'

“Dwight Dixon asked me out.”

He swallowed hard and didn't move. “Oh?”

“I wish I could say no.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I want someone and you may think it's shallow, but sometimes people need people. You can’t stumble along disconnected from everything.” She lifted her head. "Do you remember what I said on Christmas?"

He pulled away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I told you I can’t.”

“What does that mean!” She cried, jogging after him. “You don't get to tell a girl who's in love with you that it can't happen unless you're not in love with her, and if that's the case then you tell me now, Eric, be my friend and let me move on." She grabbed his arm. "Unless you don't care about me at all."

“I do,” He growled, facing her with fists clenched and shaking, “and if it weren't life or death I'd kiss you now."

“And here I thought I was being dramatic.”

He kissed her and when she slumped forward he pressed her lifeless form to his own until the snow mingled with his own tears. He trailed a padded finger over her brow, the world a blur when he bit off his glove to stroke her cheek and nearly choked when a spark, not dusty and black like the first but golden and clear, snapped from his finger. Her eyes opened, flitting to the side in bemusement before refocusing on him and damned if her touch wasn't just as he imagined when she placed it on his neck to bring their mouths closer.

“Well," she whispered, "that wasn’t too bad at all.”

~*~  
Second touch: alive again…forever.


End file.
